Love lives on...as gaudy jewelry

Wow. You know, the flame of my faith in humanity is a very fragile thing. When I hear Bush speak, I sort of cup my hands over it to keep it from blowing out in the torrential winds of his stupidity. When I see certain presidential candidates clinging to the election like some sort of...what's that type of organism that takes and takes and gives nothing back...oh right, a parasite! When I see something like that, I have to huddle around the flame, sing some of the songs I don't hate and talk hurriedly about art, literature and wikipedia.

But then there are times where something comes entirely out of left field and just blows the damn thing out.

This is one of those things:


It's not a diamond. It's grandma.

Have you ever asked yourself "Man, a picture just doesn't cut it, isn't there a way I could constantly be reminded of the death of my loved one?"

Well, wonder no more. The good folks at LifeGem have developed a method where they can extract carbon from a beloved pet or family member and turn it into a beautiful diamond that you can wear around your neck or finger forever and ever and ever.

I can see it now:
"Wow, that's a very nice necklace."
"Thanks, it's my grandma."
"Um...you mean it's your grandma's?"
"Ha ha ha. Nope."

The process, according to the LifeGem website is as follows: (By the way, I recommend watching the process video to get an example of how you can make a chemical process sound somehow meaningful and poetic. And by meaningful and poetic, I mean incomprehensible and trite.)

1. Carbon is collected from the cremated remains of a body (either human or animal). The process of cremation, of course, absolutely preserves the entirety of the body and not just the bones of the deceased. Of course, the folks at LifeGem respect that not everyone wants to be burned into ashes. A lock of hair from the loved one will do. And by lock of hair, according to the website, it means "a lock of hair equal to the amount typically collected during a typical men's haircut". So basically, give the deceased a haircut, get a big bag of dead people hair and they can make a diamond. Isn't technology grand?

2. The carbon is "purified". Which basically means it's made really hot.

3. The carbon is put under high-pressure which mimicks the pressure required to make a natural diamond.

4. The "diamond" is cut into something that is completely indisguishable from another synthetic diamond and slung around your neck or wrapped around your finger.

Of course, it's not like there's any way of telling if the carbon in the diamond is your loved one's carbon, and not just ordinary carbon. Because, as everyone knows, carbon is where one's love comes from, and not just 6 protons, 6 neutrons and 6 electrons. Since there is absolutely no way of telling what carbon is used, you could be buying a diamond made of regular, run-of-the-mill carbon for $2,500 to $14,000. Thank you Snopes. Your editorial spin makes a mockery of your attempt to be a factual site.

Diamonds not your style? Want to be even closer to your loved one? How about one of these:


A memorial tattoo

Now. I know what you're thinking: "Mr. Shaw, really, I am highly dubious of what justification you could offer for criticizing a simple tattoo that memorializes a loved one. I say, very uncouth, old chap".

I'll forgive the "uncouth" comment, you turd, but let me explain. That tattoo is not just ink. That's right. It's cremation ashes MIXED with tattoo ink. eHow makes good on its motto "How to Do Just About Everything" with this article on how to use ashes in a memorial tatoo. Apparently there are a number of health issues that can arise from injecting bone ash under your skin, what a shocker. The idea of a loved one's ashes causing a serious infection is somehow beyond hilarious to me.

Oh, and if you don't believe this ACTUALLY is done, check this out. Scroll down to "Beyond Skin Deep". Dog ashes. There you go.

So. What have we learned today?

People will do anything to cling to a memory instead of just coping with the loss?
Check.

People will spend ludicrous sums of money on the most bizarre, grotesque things?
Check.

That you need to make sure you keep an eye on your loved ones as you get older so that if they ever say something like "Gee, grandma/pa, you'd make a great synthetic diamond" you can break their nose and write them out of the will?
Check and check.

But most of all, I'm left with a sense that this is the start of a great idea. All they need to do is run this service, but instead of making the gems for the customers, they track down whoever signs up and take their money away.

Because people who will pay for a diamond made out of dog hair don't deserve money.

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A new weapon in the War Against Whippersnappers

Ah.

What a nice week.

Now back to the bi-weekly grind. By which, I mean, wasting time at work writing a blog. America is a beautiful country.

Speaking of America, what's something that has plagued this country since its birth? Incompetence and corruption amongst the government? Sure. Complete insensitivity to the desires of the disenfranchised? Of course. An abandonment of cost-effective, compassionate policy that eliminates a problem completely over time in favor of a method that immediately, violently represses symptoms so that they can sprout up in other ways? Well, we ARE Americans.

But the problem I'm talking is more serious than any of these. Something that old men on porches have been waving their canes about for centuries. That's right.

Kids...HANGING OUT.

Luckily, in this modern world, there isn't a problem that can't be solved by an elaborate, expensive, technological doo-dad. I present to you, my invisible audience...


The Mosquito!

The Mosquito is a small device that emits a high-frequency sound (17.4 kHz at 85dB) that can only be heard clearly by younger people. This is because of a phenomenom known as Presbycusis, which basically refers to gradual hearing loss with age, especially with regard to higher frequencies.

Howard Stapleton, winner of the 2006 Ig Nobel Prize, is the genius behind this device. Did I say genius? I meant quack.

The Mosquito sounds something like this. If your young, this will probably be loud and obnoxious. If you're old, you'll probably revel in the bliss of clearing your office or home of children for a few minutes.

Now, while this device has been successful in achieving its purpose, it was banned in Newport, South Wales after three months of use. Additionally, the Children's Commissioner of England has organized the BUZZ OFF campaign, which is a hilarious play on the fact that the device is called the Mosquito and...Mosquitos...buzz.

And who says English humor isn't funny?

And now, unsurprisingly, it is being sold in America. But, also unsurprisingly, it hasn't aroused near as much concern. According to CNN, in South Carolina and Maryland devices have been installed with no complaint by white people over 18 years old, you know, the only people that matter.

Santell, one of the marketers of the device, has claimed that its has recieved requests from government agencies wanting a louder version to "protect" government property.

Honestly, I find this all fantastic. By the time I'm older, we will have the technology to herd kids into pens and only let them out for scheduled knowledge and nutrition insertion. When they are plump enough, we will send them off to factories based on their ability, which will be gauged by future SAT scores (or, as I like to call them...fSATs) so that they can live a controlled, safe life producing until they die and are recycled as food for the new crop of youths.

The device costs $1,500 dollars. It's a good thing that kind of money could never fund a program to entertain kids so that loitering in parking lots just seems like a waste of time. Cause otherwise, the entire concept would be idiotic.

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P.S.: Howard Stapleton was once quoted as saying of the kids that had emptied from a parking lot, "Either someone has come along and wiped them off the face of the earth, or it's working". I'm glad this device was invented by an intelligent, considerate scientist and not a maniacal sociopath.

S-S-Snakes on a P-P-Plane

Well, folks. I've done Peanut Butter and Jelly. I've done Rihanna (I wish). I've done Tornados. What other threats to international peace can I take on?

Oh yeah.


This guy.

I know what you might be saying. "Rick, how is Samuel L. Jackson, a man who wears a BERET, a threat to international peace". And I respond with:




Guy's got a FLAMETHROWER. Oh, sure, you may say, "that's not that intimidating, why not just let him be." Because, if you let Sam Jackson survive into the future, you get THIS:



That's right. The legendary pimp-saber. Sam Jackson's force is bright purple.

They say that you should know your enemy. Fine. Let's get to know Sam Jackson.

Born in 1948, Sam Jackson was the child Tennessee just couldn't handle. He took the English language by storm, developing a terrible stammer. This bothered Sammy J. immensely. According to this interview in the Independent, Mr. Jackson explained,

"'When I was a kid...I would talk and people would laugh, so I just stopped talking for a while.'"

This would haunt him until his speech therapist recommended he participate in public speaking classes to break him of the habit. It was said that the speeches he made would rattle the foundations of the buildings he spoke in and force all snakes within 5 miles to die, instantly.

Later in life, he became involved in the Civil Rights Movement. But then he got into a little fight with the FBI and his mom got scared, said he's moving to be an actor in LA.

During this time, L. Jacks developed a cocaine addiction. This culminated in an overdose, which lead to him being put into a New York rehab center. He came barreling back in Spike Lee's Jungle Fever where he played a cocaine addict. Huh.

What really shot him into stardom were his roles in Pulp Fiction, Die Hard and the Star Wars series. Apparently, The legendary purple lightsaber was a suggestion by S.J. to George Lucas, claiming that it would "look cool". Later, in an MTV interview he boasted that he "got the only purple lightsaber in the universe and I hope I get to take it home with me after they kill me." The brilliant bastard.

The reason I really wanted to write this entry was because of a little-known movie called Snakes on a Plane

Sure, it was lame. The plot was contrived and the characters were flatter than my ex-wife ah ha ha ha. But, let's get some history here. Mr. Leroy Jackson agreed to work on this movie based soley on the fact that it was being directed by a director he liked from Hong Kong and the mudda-fuggin NAME. He didn't even read the script. Badasses don't read.

Not badass enough? How about the fact that he single-handedly made them keep the name Snakes on a Plane even though New Line attempted to make the name less of...I don't know...Noun on a completely unrelated noun.

Not enough? How about the fact that he made the studio RESHOOT parts of the movie, turning it from PG-13 to R SIMPLY BECAUSE he wanted to say the line "I've had enough of these mother*%*&ing snakes on this mother*$&#ing plane!"

That's right. Samuel L. Jackson happens to be the single most badass person in recorded history.

Well...

With the exception of George Washington. Man had balls.

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I am a blogger, ogger, ogger, ug, ug, ug

Oh, R&B.

You never disappoint.

Mainly because I don't have high hopes for R&B. So it's hard to be disappointed. Maybe that's why I don't like so many things. Because so much is so gol-darned disappointing that being an optomist just seems inefficient.

Life lesson, kiddies. Aim low. That way, you'll never be disappointed.

Speaking of aiming low, today's post is all about a song that has been played so often it's almost crazy.

And by crazy, I mean the song by Gnarls Barkley. I heard that played so often I thought that certain radio stations had just changed their lineup to "All Crazy, all the time!"

It drove me...up the wall.

But there's another catchy song that is apparently the 6th most popular song in the last DECADE internationally. It was #1 on Entertainment weekly's best songs of 2007 and #3 on Rolling Stone's list of arbitrarity.

Needles to say...it did pretty wella, wella, eh, eh, eh.

That's right. I'm dedicating this entry to a song I morally oppose:


Psst, Rihanna, you're doing it wrong!

What do we know about Umbrella? We know it's an enormously popular and viciously catchy tune. Most would be happy to leave it at that. But, not Inanity Inc.

Umbrella's lyrics and melody were written in 12 minutes by Terius "The Dream" Nash. It was originally written to be performed by Britney Spears. Her label told Terius to dream on. Get it? Didn't take me 12 minutes to think of that one, Terry.

So they moved on to Mary J. Bilge. While waiting for a reply from Bilge, Rihanna's label began calling the writers more than my ex-wife calls me for child support (ba-dum-pssh). But unlike my ex-wife, they actually got what they wanted. Rihanna would soon be asking America to stand under her Umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh.

Christopher "Tricky" Stewart admitted to having doubts about Rihanna singing the song. But, according to Stewart,

"When she recorded the 'ellas,' you knew it was about to be the jump-off and your life was about to change if you had anything to do with that record."

Yes. You read that correctly, folks. "When she recorded the ellas". I know a stuttering refrain breaking down a commonplace word has changed my life. If it weren't for Rihanna's ability to sing jibberish, we would still be listening to remixes of Crazy.

Fine, fine, fine. So it got a lot more popular than this blog will ever be, and so on and so forth.

WHAT YOU MAY NOT KNOW is that Rihanna single-handedly caused a devastating flood across the UK that MURDERED innocent citizens. Well. Only two innocent citizens, but I bet they were REALLY innocent.

How did she do it? No one knows. What we DO know is that while her song was at the top of the charts, this disaster besieged the noble United Kingdom. And as soon as its reign of terror was ended by the stalwart crusader that is Timbaland, the weather improved.

Sure, it could have been coincidence. Or maybe it was God's way of proving Rihanna wrong. How about that, Rihanna? You talk big, but when it comes down to it, your umbrella can't even protect an ISLAND 1/5 the size of the US. Sounds like your umbrella ella ella is a bunch of crappa appa appa.

Also. The song ends with the words "come into me" repeated.

Gross.

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Grapples! They're worthlesstupid!

Friend + enemy = Frenemy - A friend who is also your enemy.

Narcissism + surfing = Narcissurfing - An activity in which you benefit yourself and only yourself

Bimbo + distraction = Britney Spears - An unremarkable human being who has more followers than JESUS

Grape + Apple = Grapple - A horrific chimera that is at once both a grape...AND AN APPLE.

It's fun making up words. The funny thing is, all of the above words describe real things.

That's right. Humanity has accomplished the impossible. When Johnny Appleseed was committing acts of bioterrorism, when Mendel watered his bean plants and dreamt of all the sex he was NOT having...none of them could have imagined that their advancements would lead mankind into a new world. A world where the impossible becomes possible. Where something as American as the pie based upon it (along with high fructose corn syrup, dextrose and enriched, bleached flour) and something as...I dunno...French as the wine distilled from its juice...where these two staples would be fused into something so much more...


The Grāpple®

The mad geniuses at C&O Nursery would like you believe that they're simple folk. Growing their apple trees, making good, wholesome apples, like the good lord intended.

BUT HERE'S THE REAL SCOOP!

Look at those comments! From someone who calls himself "greenerpastures". Most likely a member of the Green party. We all know what the Green Party's really after. Communism. Equal opportunity for all races and cultures. That's isn't right. That is NOT America.

So these commies, showing no respect for the creations of a loving God, decided to make a move. Using C&O Nursery as their headquarters, they launched an offensive on something that has DEFINED America. (even though the largest collection of apple cultivars happens to be here, in England)

The sweet, innocent apple. They have violated the sanctity of its supple red flesh with the bulbous, lusty pulp of the Concord grape.

Through use of elaborate genetic engineering techniques, the mad cyborg scientists of the C&O Gulag managed to give birth to the demon chimera that cannot exist in this reality. It is both apple and grape, while being definitively NEITHER! The epitome of man's hubris, the Fruit of Babel, if you will! It's horrible! It's a monster! It's...

Wait a minute.

They're not genetically engineered?

They just dunk apples in grape juice and charge some absurd price?

Brilliant. I can just imagine what went on inside the nursery:
Guy1: Hey. We're not selling enough apples locally. How can we charge full price for low-quality, already old apples?
Guy2: Um. Maybe we can dip 'em in something. Like caramel.
Guy1: Nah, then they'd be getting what they pay for. What about dipping them in juice?
Guy2: But that's stupid. No one will buy that.
Guy1: What if we say stuff like "we're fighting against child obesity".
Guy2: Brilliant. I'll go buy some juice.
Guy1: Make sure you water it down!

Honestly. This woman has it spot-on. She e-mails these people, asking for ingredients and they just respond by saying that there's no additional calories or sugar.

You know what that means? That means that THE GRAPE JUICE ADDS NOTHING. So basically, you are paying for an apple that smells like a grape. It's perfect for a person who hates the smell of apples, but just adores the taste. Those poor olfactory-challenged people. It's a good thing they're marketed to that small group and not featured on any national TV station....

Oh crap. Damn you Food Network.

Incidently, Food Network, G4 and grape juice have something in common.

G4 has boobs.

Food Network has Alton Brown.

Grape juice is a delicious drink.

They each have one, and ONLY one, worthwhile use.

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Worship: Size DOES Matter

Man. I am mega-tired. I would mega-like to take a mega-nap and mega-reduce-my-metabolic-rate-and-secrete-additional-growth-hormone.

Wow. That is annoying. It's a good thing mega isn't used as a prefix seriously.

Oh wait:


Megachurch (The Crystal Cathedral)

That's right. Megachurch. I'd love to say "How very typically American, making something ludicrously oversized, because the bigger it is, the more powerful and thus the more meaningful." BUT. Apparently the biggest churches happen to be in Korea.

Yoido Full Gospel Church

How typically Korean.

The Megachurch
The trend that led to this kind of garbage is easy to explain, hard to show by example. The wikipedia entry describes the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London, which attracted 5,000 to witness the powerful sermons of a man named Charles Haddon Spurgeon in the late 1800s. The church later burned down. Am I the only one that finds that kind of funny?

The Crystal Cathedral (pictured above) is a monstrosity placed in the white-and-asian haven, Garden Grove, California. Oddly enough, it's a very middle-class area just bursting with people with disposable income. I'm sure it's just a coincidence. The beast cost $17 million dollars and broadcasts its sermons worldwide on a TV show called Hour of Power

The mega-criticism...sorry...the major criticism of these kinds of churches is that they put value on entertainment, on flashiness, rather than on actual worship. It's hard to break out of this stigma, as once church service becomes such an enormous ordeal, it becomes a production. No more humble little preacher reading from a book while his congregation reads along (or falls asleep). Now the words to hymns are blared across seven-yard-long TV screens in flashing colors with a barrage of orchestral music blared over a system of PAs.

Yes. Slight difference, there.

Hillsong: Doing Chuch better than Wal-Mart

To explain just how strange the whole megachurch phenomenom is, it's best to have a really odd example.

Hillsong Church is a chain-church, if you can believe that, that first got real popularity when it put out a CD called Hillsong. It then promptly changed its name from Hill's Christian Center to Hillsong, based on that popularity. Which, I guess, is as good a reason as any.

Hillsong originated in Australia and now has centers in London, Moscow, Berlin and Paris. Basically, it went from a country that didn't matter into every country that does. With the exception of Russia.

Hillsong does everything. Music, TV, women's groups, kid's groups, education, social justice, you name anything high-profile and Hillsong is all over it like Jesus on a T-Shirt.

Unsurprisingly, Hillsong has come under some, just a little, criticism for teaching what is known as Prosperity Gospel. Basically, what it is is the entire content of The Secret. By being religious, you will gain material wealth. Whew. What a relief. And here I thought I was going to have to work hard.

Soapbox
Okay. I'll admit. There was an alterior motive to talking about megachurches. A certain man, let's call him Jeremiah W. No, no...let's go with J. Wright, has been on TV more than Flava Flav, and that's a travesty. Mr. Wright was at one point a preacher at the Trinity United Church of Christ.

Just to be clear, the TUCC is NOT Hillsong, OR Crystal Cathedral. I am in no way insinuating Mr. Wright is a prosperity gospel bullshit artist or a flashy little nothing. I happen to think a lot of what he says is pretty strong and well-reasoned.

HOWEVER. One thing people seem to be missing is the fact that Mr. Wright is taking this media attention, which is OBVIOUSLY hurting one of his former congregation members, and riding it like a wave of sensationalist journalism. Fact is, the guy was a successful preacher at a high-production church a good portion of his life. Of course he's going to jump at the chance to propound his views on TV. He wouldn't have been as successful as he was if he was the kind of person to pass up this opportunity!

With that in mind, I wouldn't blame a certain B. Obama if he decided to distance himself from the guy. He handled the last flare up so well, only to have Mr. Wright come barreling back into the spotlight. It's unfortunate, but the media is going to take Wright's comments and turn them against Obama, no matter WHAT he says. The fact is, Wright is seeking attention and hurting Obama in the process. One of them needs to cut the other out.

Sorry.

I'm allowed one political rant every so often.

We'll be back to Squirrel Fishing later this week.

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A bold new sport

So. How about those extended periods without a single post, eh?

Did you, my invisible audience, miss me? I'm sure you did.

Either way, back to business. And by business, I mean a supreme waste of time. Which isn't too far from what business actually is. Or, at least a business degree.

For years mankind has struggled to understand nature, to commune with nature. Henry David Thoreau removed himself from the crowded world for this precise communion. He claimed that "there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright"

The Romanticist William Blake claimed, "Great things are done when men and mountains meet. This is not done by jostling in the street." He then proceeded to curse the King of England and get in a fistfight with a soldier.

In the tradition of these great poets and thinkers, a number of young people have started a grand reopening of the dialouge between man and nature. They call it:



Squirrel Fishing

These pioneers, these (I am not ashamed to say it) heroes, have taken the brutal act of fishing and adapted it to become a serene commune with nature. I am proud to feature them here, in this blog, to my vast(ly) invisible audience.


How to
Squirrel fishing is so simple you might mistake it for a hilarious and silly game rather than an intimate meditation with Mother Nature.

1. Get a rod. Some say fishing rods, but a lot of times, it just looks like people use a big stick. In the pictures on this site, they don't even use the rod.

2. Get some string. It seems a lot of the critters like to bite through the string, so something slightly strong might be worth it.

3. Get a peanut. OR a slice of apple. Apparently both work pretty well in attracting your prey-I mean-furry friend. Also, according to wikipedia raw peanuts might be somewhat unhealthy for the squirrel, so it might be worth getting roasted ones. Or just go with the apple.

4. Get a key. You'll need this to weigh down the line. Tie it about three inches up from the end of the string.

5. Tie one end of the string to the rod and the other to the peanut (or through the apple slice)

6. Carefully approach the squirrel and attempt to gain its interest in the nut.

7. One the squirrel is hooked, it's time to commune. Relate to it. Be the squirrel. Try to lift it off the ground and dangle it around. Because that shit is funny.

The Heroes
UC Berkeley Squirrel fishers - Apparently one of the largest groups, boasting more than 80 members. Apparently also boasting an inter-club drama, where groups are divided and need unification. How, exactly, a group dedicated to lifting squirrels off the ground has anything to debate is beyond me. Link.

University of Oregon Squirrel Fishing Club - A group of about 30 members that is currently struggling with recreation to have squirrel fishing sanctioned as an official sport. Fight the good fight, lads. Link.

Harvard University Division of Engineering and Applied Sciences - Yes. That's right. Harvard. This is how people at Harvard apply sciences. Honestly, it's things like this that make me think that maybe Harvard isn't a bunch of puffed nonsense desperately trying to improve student satisfaction to distract them from the fortune and a half they're spending on tuition. Then again. I went to Rutgers. I have no room to talk. Link.

Soapbox
This is hilarious.

I'm gonna do it.

End soapbox.

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Don't gimme no grief...ers

Well. After a bit of a hiatus, I'm back. And I'm sure my invisible hacker audience couldn't be happier. I say hacker because they must be super-hackers to be able to erase all trace of their having visited this blog, leaving no record of my blog having any vistors.

My hat goes off to you, invisible hackers.

Speaking of hackers...more specifically visible ones who may not, in fact, be hackers...today's topic is sure to cause a zillion zit-faced youngsters to writhe, gnash their teeth and shatter their poor optical mice.

I speak of the few (many), the proud (not so much), the...

Griefers

What is a "Griefer"?

The kind of griefing I'm going to focus on is griefing in games. I could go on for Illiads worth of epic prose if I was going to address all onling griefing ever.

Griefing in onling games is a kind of emergent gameplay which is basically exactly what it sounds like. It's strategies or methods of playing a game outside of the original design, or ones that develop from an interaction of basic game elements. A (less malevolent) example of this would be the online economies of games like World of Warcraft. Items increase and decrease in value, just like a real world economy. Further, items can become so valuable that people will pay REAL WORLD money to buy something that equates to a line of code stuck in a server somewhere.

Griefing, however, is simple maliciousness. Well...sometimes, very complex maliciousness. Basically, what a griefer does is live up to the name. Causes another player grief. This is accomplished in any number of ways, using game mechanics to generally ruin another player's day. For example, in team-based First-Person Shooters, doing damage to one's own team or generally getting inthe way of the team doing what they're supposed to.

Griefing is different from laming, which consists of just being ignorant of the rules or generally useless, as griefers choose their targets with focused maliciousness. Lamers are just stupid.

Anshe Chung CNET Interview on Second Life
Second Life was a masterpiece. The Sims had hit on something when they had made ordinary, happy people into mindless zombies slaving over the tiny lives of tiny little people babbling in their tiny little retard-speak. Second Life developers stroked what were no doubt stringy goatees soaked in the stench of pot and debauchery, toiling hard over what would be their next scheme to enslave mankind and put a Democrat in office. Then, it hit them. Why not make a game exactly like the Sims in every way, except with less complexity and much worse graphical interface, and call on people to give up their boring, mundane lives full of rewarding social interaction and opportunity that was not pre-programmed for a few shoddy textures thrown together into what looked vaguely like a human being.

Thus, Second Life was born.

Ailin Graef is the self-styled Rockefeller of Second Life, earning thousands of digital dollars, which convert into a modest salary for this tiny, extremely plain-looking asian girl. Her avatar, Anshe Chung, was brought in for a CNET interview in the only evironment she's every known a modicum of success...Second Life.

The crowd entered their sit commands and chose the emoticons indicating rapt attention. The interview started simple enough, Anshe gesturing jerkily and throwing in the odd, angular smile, when all of a sudden..


DISASTER!!

Griefing at its finest. And I mean, finest.

Final thought
I want to show some more examples, but that'll have to come later.

For now, begin rant:

I think this stuff is hilarious. The ideology of the griefer is to keep people from thinking that just because they've found six hours a day to sink into a digital world and have made hundreds of tens of dollars, real or fake, they are not a success. The highest of the high can be bowed by a bunch of code junkies with a chip in their shoulder and a great sense of irony.

Even if that irony sometimes comes in the form of giant, floating penises.

Griefing is obnoxious. Yes. I don't think anyone would say it wasn't. But you have to admit. It's pretty gol' darn hilarious. I think there's a griefer in all of us. We all have those moments where we just want to sock our boss in the face, even if our boss is the nicest, friendliest, most understanding sod in the world. We all want to knock a little kid's ice cream cone on the ground. We all want to ruin the enjoyment of others once and a while.

Thank Gore for the internet. If it weren't for the web, we'd all be off starting wars and subordinating minorities to do near-slave-labor.

More reading:
WIRED article on griefing - Excellent article, very well written and, I'm not ashamed to say, hilarious :)

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This blog is a natural disaster.

Guess what else is?

This:



Sorry. That was wrong. There's nothing natural about Michael Jackson.

This, however:


Today we talk about something that has done more damage to the Midwest than the Dustbowl and George W. Bush COMBINED:

TORNADOES!

The Tornado: Know Your Enemy
I hear you saying, "But Rick, Sun Tzu always said the more you know about the enemy, the more likely you are to win in battle against them. How can I come to know enough about tornadoes to ride my cavalry into it and chase it from my farmland?"

Well, I'm here to help the struggling 1400s Chinese aristocracy.

A tornado is defined by the Glossary of Meteorology as:

"A violently rotating column of air, in contact with the ground, either pendant from a cumuliform cloud or underneath a cumuliform cloud, and often (but not always) visible as a funnel cloud."

Cumuliform is a fancy way of saying a cloud that develops on a vertical axis. Cumulus clouds are the big puffy clouds that tower over you and sometimes rain ice and deadly vortexes down on our puny mortal lives.

They form from a class of thunderstorm called Supercell.


These terrifying storms are the most dangerous. They can last for hours and include hail, torrential rain and, of course, our friends, the tornado.

The central feature of the supercell is the rotation of the winds within it, called the mesocyclone. Wind hits the top of the cloud, starting movement within the cloud, while an updraft tilts the spinning wind into a vertical axis, causing the formation of the mesocyclone. This mesocyclone is the source of the tornado.

Rain drags air down with it towards the back of the supercell, creating something called the Rear Flank Downdraft. It accelerates as it approaches the ground and drags the mesocyclone within the supercell down with it. With enough moist, warm air, the mesocyclone forms a funnel that develops into a tornado. Eventually, the downdraft cuts off the air supply for the tornado and the tornado disappates.

And blah blah blah. Let's go the way of Fox News and stop concentrating on education and facts and start talking about the GOOD STUFF.

WHEN NATURE ATTACKS!!!!!

World's Deadliest Tornado: Bangladesh, 1989
On April 26th, 1989, the people of Saturia and Manikgank sadar were calmly going about their Bangladeshian lives, doing their Bangladeshian things, praying to their pagan Bangladeshian Gods. Unfortunately, Mother Nature must have been on her period that day, because she rained down total bitch upon the simple Bangladeshians.

A tornado decended, reportedly 1 mile long, decimating the two towns and killing an estimated 1300 people. That number was eventually tuned down to at least 600 confirmed

Where it matters: Deadliest US Tornado
On March 18, 1925, the people of Missouri, Illinois and Indiana were calmly going about their noble American lives, worshipping their proper Christian Gods...when all of a sudden, an enormous tornado, probably planned by the Huns, came crashing down upon their strong American backs.

There is some controversy (there is so little in meteorology...let them have this one) over whether or not it was actually one tornado or a family of tornados spawning from one supercell, but that's got nothing to do with death toll.

According to the Tornado Project (which certainly knows why people come to a site called tornado project), the tornado touched down in Missouri with more limited destruction, destroying mining towns and killing a few farmers. Then, growing bold, it mosied into Illinois, destroying the town of Gorham and killing almost three hundred in Murphysboro. The tornado powered on to Indiana, destroying small towns and erradicating half of Princeton (which, if Princeton,NJ is any gauge, probably deserved it).

Death toll: 695 confirmed
Damage: $16,500,000 (Note, that for five dollars in 1925, you could buy your own farm, send three kids to college and retire young. This may be an exaggeration.)

Final Note
I hope you learned something today.

I learned that Tornados are pretty dangerous.

Then again. 4,000 troops have died in Iraq. 1,527 people died in 9/11. And something in the realm of one million civilians have died throughout the Iraq engagement.

So. I learned Mother Nature is a huge bitch. But we're bitchier.

USA! USA! USA!

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Inanity Inc. Goes to War

The deep bass of drumbeats, the flawless unison of armored footfalls, the war bells of rattling armor, this is the background music to the life of a REAL man. Real men stab things and burn things and rip out their own spleen and eat it for the sake of glory.

THAT'S a real man.

So all sarcasm aside, I decided that today's entry will be a belated tribute to the fifth anniversary of the Iraq Not-quite-so-war-because-Congress-never-had-to-declare-war-so-the-president-can-do-fuck-all-thank-you-very-much-Founding-Fathers. Congratulations, guys! Not only did you pull the wool over America's eyes, but you managed to staple that wool to American faces. It's a good thing we all love Britney Spears too much to pay attention to the real world, because otherwise you guys would be going out much the way Hussein did.

So. Today. We talk about famous tacticians in history. Why? Because God knows there ain't a tactician (political or military) among the inbred clowns hailing to the chief inbred clown.

Without further ado:

The Greatest Tacticians In History (according to me)

Alexander the Great

If he has "the Great" in his name, you know he has to be...well...pretty good.

Alexander was born to King Phillip II of Macedon and his wife Olympias. King Phillip apparently had a dream before Alexander's birth that he sealed his wife's vajay-jay with the seal of a lion. Apparently that meant Alexander would be born with the character of a lion. I just think it was a weird sex dream.

Alexander's most famous tutor was Aristotle, a man famous for metaphysics, science, politics and telling everyone to be nice. Aristotle apparently gave Alexander a copy of the Illiad which Alexander kept as his prized possession, sleeping with it and a dagger under his pillow. That way, he could either stab an attacker or bludgeon them with 200 pounds of book.

Alexander served under his father and accomplished himself in battle by defeating an elite hoplite army of Thebes. Soon after, Phillip was assassinated, with some suspicion being cast on Alexander. Not enough, apparently. Alexander assumed the throne of Macedon at the age of 20.

Greek states like Thebes and Athens thought this would be the best time to regain their independence, with a noob king on the throne. They didn't factor in the "the Great" part into their plans. Alexander showed up at the gate of Thebes, which quickly surrendered. Later, Thebes would rebel again and Alexander would raze the city to the ground, enslaving its citizens and eating its babies.

Having established himself the firm leader of Macedonia, Alexander was free to move on to Persia and India, slaughtering and conquering (they sort of go hand in hand) as he would. Something that earned him a lot of dislike amongst his fellow officers was the fact that he adopted a number of Persian customs as well as a few Persian consorts. Alexander had a respect for other cultures that sort of was at odds with his destruction of most of them.

Now. On to the good stuff. Tactics. Phillip, Alexander's father, was the first to make a 100% professional army, while most other armies were composed of mercenaries and civilians. This way, he had a fully trained and loyal army. He also pioneered a number of tactical innovations like the Macedonian phalanx, which used long, two-handed spears and shoulder-mounted shields to create sort of a wall of death advancing, unstoppable, into the enemy.

Alexander's contribution was the heavy use of heavy cavalry to charge at the flank of the enemy, sapping morale and creating a panic amongst units not yet engaged in battle. Alexander's tactics included a good amount of this morale-sapping, using unexpected and sudden tactical moves that would cause confusion in his enemy.

Sun Tzu...the not quite as great

I want that beard.

Sun Tzu is actually not the guy's name. It is an honorific that was given to a man named Sūn Wǔ, who wrote The Art of War. I'll refer to him as Sun Tzu, because I hate having to copypaste the other name repeatedly.

There isn't quite as much known about Sun Tzu. The only biography of him describes him as a landless aristocrat, accomplishing himself by hiring himself out as a sort of military consultant. He apparently trained a battalion of females lead by the close concubines of King Helü, under which Sun Tzu served. At first, they would laugh at his orders and disobey them. Then he killed a few of their leaders. And then they listened. That's a tactician.

He is best known for writing a treatise originally called Sun Tzu. But it came to be known as the big book of war, or The Art of War. The book is STILL famous. It is said that Mao Zedong and Stalin both carried his book around. And with rave reviews by big names like that, it has to be good.

The Art of War has had a great influence on tactics. It stresses the importance of all aspects of war, of supplies, information, economic preparation, planning and fire. Its major theme is stressing the importance of adaptability. Being able to react effectively in a variety of situations and turning any conditions under which a military leader finds themself to their advantage. More practically, it speaks about positioning. Positioning in relation to both environment and enemy. It is positioning that formed the core of Alexander's victory and adaptability that pushed him through.

For more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Art_of_War
For a sort of Cliff Notes edition: http://suntzusaid.com/


End

Ah, for the good old days, where men were men, women were women and all other cultures were to be squelched beneath the giant greaved foot of military oppression.

It's a good thing we don't have any of that now.

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Animal cruelty has never been so entertaining!

I may have missed my thursday entry, but I'll make up for it with a ridiculously hilarious topic.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

The Lobster Zone



That's right. Somewhere between entertainment and blatant abuse of animal rights lies that mysterious zone known only as "The Lobster Zone".

No joke. It's a crane game where you try and catch live lobsters, some with MONEY strapped to their claws. It's so cruel that it passes the point of being disgusting and becomes just plain hilarious.

Here's the site if you don't believe me. I didn't, at first.

How it works, is that basically these machines are crane games with temperature-controlled fish tanks jammed into them. The claw goes down and, like with any crane game, attempts to snag a lobster, which is promptly lifted up, kicking and screaming and dropped down a chute. The winner then takes his/her prize to the kitchen (as most of these machines are in restaurants) and watches with pride in his/her eyes as their trophy is boiled alive.

Now that's good eatin'.

Apparently these machines are enormously profitable, racking in over $1000 per week, according to this article in the Augusta Chronicle. I was going to make some crack about "of course this sort of crap flies in the SOUTH" but...



That's right. I forgot about Maine. The Kentucky of the Northeast.

From the Augusta Chronicle:
"The Lobster Zone plays the theme from the movie ``Jaws'' whenever the game is activated and it doesn't take long for the lobsters to get spooked by the music.
``After a while, the lobsters learn what that music means,'' Hammerman said. ``Their antennas go up, and they try to get away from the claw.''"

Translation: After a while, the lobsters become so terrified of the booming music and the giant hard, sharp object that attempts to chew on them that they huddle in a corner and fear for their little crustacean lives.

Apparently, the best time to get the lobsters is when a fresh batch is dropped in. That way, they don't see the clammy aluminum hand of death coming.

So how have the green-backed tree-huggers responded to this? With the usual disgust that drives them to pester council members who really couldn't care less.

From theFreepublic.com article:
"Lobsters aren't stuffed animals," said William Rivas-Rivas, spokesman for PETA, whose Web site lauds actress Drew Barrymore for her desire to release all lobsters from holding tanks. "Their pain and fear are real."
(Side note: Nice subtle jab at PETA, Mr. Author)

PETA, of course, you'll remember from such public relations masterpieces as this:



Meaning their opinion on what's cruel and demeaning means about as much as a pedophile's at a PTA meeting.

Soapbox time
Now. I disagree with the spokespeople for the game claiming that the cute little things "do not process pain". I think we understand next to bupkiss about what causes and stops pain in the human nervous system and probably just as close to bupkiss about what causes pain in the crustacean nervous system. It's reasonable to assume the things do not enjoy dying and, in fact, prefer to avoid it.

HOWEVER. In Freepublic article:

"Boomers owner Jimmy Watson said the lobsters in the tank are better off than their captured cousins that await their final bath of boiling water in a cardboard box stacked in a walk-in refrigerator."

Jimmy makes a good point. I mean, this is no more cruel than stacking them on top of one another in a narrow little Shop-Rite tank. At least they get a little more breathing room...if that matters to an animal a short evolutionary jump away from a cockroach.

In conclusion, killing animals for food is inherently cruel. Why not make it hilarious?

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Fun fact: These machines were invented by J.R. Fishman.

I feel that with a name like that, his possibilities in life were somewhat limited.

Axes for hands and laser beams for eyes

Hello again.

I had a hard time coming up with today's topic. I thought about trucks, I thought about the history of chainsaws and I thought about Sony's insipid little "dogs" (I use the term loosely, because the only thing they have in common is four legs and ears. Dogs tend not to beep and tend to actually make you feel bad when you torture them.) called the AIBO.

Then I realized...what about a combination of all three?

That's right. Today's topic is giant fighting robots.

I know what you're thinking. "There's no such thing! This is ridiculous! How absurd! You call yourself a depot of useless knowledge! Pfah!"

Sure. They don't have them HERE. But in Japan...



Sure, it may just be...rescuing, there. But throw a chainsaw or two on there and you having a killing machine!

History of the Giant Fighting...Automaton

It's probably easiest to trace the robot back to ancient Greek automatons. The only existing evidence we have of one is the Antikythera mechanism:




Neat, huh? Basically, it's a navigational tool. It was comprised of gears that turned as you entered a date, giving the position of the sun and moon and all that good old fashion navigational stuff.

Automaton basically means something that moves by its own will. This includes clockwork toys, which are mentioned in stories and drawn in pictures throughout time.

Automata VS. Robots: WHO WILL WIN!?

It's venn diagram time. All robots are automata. But not all automata are robots. Automata, like a cuckoo clock, have very simple functions that do not "sense" a changing environment. The bird's gonna pop out if it's on the wall or being dropped out of a plane, it doesn't matter. A robot is defined as something with apparent agency, which means it has goal-based actions.

For example: In 2000, Honda Motor Company, going along with its reputation for turning to mechanical gold whatever it touches, came out with the ASIMO. This cute little thing is capable of recognizing moving objects, faces, gestures and responding to them appropriately. If someone offers their hand for it to shake, it will move to shake it. Goal-based. Get it? A cuckoo clock barely recognizes even the most familiar faces and deigns never to shake your hand.

The History of the Giant Fighting Robot (GFR)

The GFR's ancestors, and I'm sure someone with way too many Gundam figurines can correct me on this, trace back to 1926 with the film Metropolis. In it, there is a female robot character named "Maria", which is both human and robot at the same time, what incredible 1920s acting.

Fast-forward to the 1939 World's Fair. The World's Fair, if I may take a moment to go on a meaningless tangent, seems to have been the headquarters for everything cool in the world, ever. Now they've transformed into something called World Expo, which you never hear apricot one about. Or, at least, I don't. And reality is subjective. For those of you who are interested, the next Expo is in Spain this year. I wonder if they'll have innovations in taco-making technology.

(Yes. I am aware tacos are Mexican. Leave me alone.)

1939 World's Fair. A robot called Elektro is unveiled. It was a giant, ugly hunk of aluminum that looked like this:



It could talk, move its legs and arms and smoke cigarettes. Basically, it was everything a man in the 40s could hope to be.

From here, robot technology could only advance. And what other way to advance an industry than by making it cartoony and fun.

The Giant Fighting Television Robot (GFTVR)

Astro Boy. An atomic-powered super-robot-boy, flying around saving the world with his heart of gold. Or...decayed human flesh. Either way. It started as a manga (or comic book, for you non-japanophiles out there) in 1952 and was remade into an animated series in 1980 under the name Shin Tetsuwan Atom

Astro Boy was basically the predecessor to 90% of Japanese animated series. Meaning that 90% of Japanese anime involves some sort of giant fighting robot. I won't cite that. It's an exaggeration but, as any anime fan will openly admit, it's not too far off the mark.

All that's missing is the giant. If only there were some sort animated show that involved a giant robot. Perhaps even with a name that indicates its size relative to everything else. Oh, where could I find such a thing?



Bam.

Gigantor is the American version of an anime called Tetsujin 28-go. Tetsu means metal in Japanese. Jin means person. Basically: Iron Man.

This was followed up in 1979 by Mobile Suit Gundam, which is not only still making millions on merchandising, but has a Wikipedia entry as long as, oh, say, God.

From there, Macross...Evangelion...and almost every anime afterwards.

(Not-So) Giant Fighting Robots (NSGFR)

So how about real life? Do we have giant fighting robots yet? Will they be able to beat back Godzilla? Are they piloted by nubile young boys with rippling muscles and daddy issues?

What we DO have is this. The Foster-Miller TALON robot, which is a cute little thing on tank treads with a gun and a camera on it.


The face of real fighting robots.

These little darlings have been deployed since 2000 and are currently being used (sparingly) in Iraq. They cost an incredible 60,000 in a standard form. Luckily, we have a never-ending war budget, so we can sink a few million into making one of these all it can be. Nevermind the fact that our lesser, fleshy soldiers don't have sufficient armor. Now we have fancy toys.

So. Do you feel like you learned a lot? I know I do.

Oh yeah.

I forgot Transformers.

Oh well.

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Additional source:
http://cdecas.free.fr/robots/history.php">http://cdecas.free.fr/robots/history.php - A very good source for useless super robot information

TGIF

So I went home yesterday thinking I had gotten everything I wanted done done. I so pleased with myself.

Then, it struck me.

I HADN'T UPDATED THE BLOG!

Oh, heaven forfend. You, my invisible audience, had to do without!

Never fear, nonexistent readers. I will admit as a mistake what I can write off as entirely intentional.

The reason I missed my update Thursday was because I was waiting for it to be Friday so that I could get into the state of mind necessary to write this, the blog post to end all blog posts...well...for the weekend.

Today's quandary is the mythical, magical, wonderful FRIDAY.

Thank Gods it's Friday

The word friday comes from, as most things do, gods. It comes from the word Frige, which is not a kitchen appliance mispelled, but instead the Old English form of Frigg, the wife of the Norse god Odin. She was a huge Norse goddess, responsible for love, household, fertility and making sandwiches. Basically, by Nordic standards, the perfect wife. Where, in modern times, she'd be the enemy of feminists and be seeing a psychiatrist for the regulation of boredom-induced mood disorders. We've come a long way.

The word also traces its origins to another goddess, Freyja, who was another huge chick-god in Norse mythology. I should clarify, by huge, I don't mean fat. They were Germanic, but they weren't fat...they probably just had rippling biceps. Either way, she was another goddess of fertility, as is anything with a vagina in myth. (For you mythology geeks don't get your knickers in a twist about me saying that. If you are currently yelling at the computer "What about Artemis, you smug bastard!?", then I will refer you to this. Athena, too.)

In addition, Freyja was a goddess of battle. All sarcasm aside, I really enjoy this about mythology, that gods can be in charge of love and joy as well as stabbing one another in the throat. There's something human about that.

Anyway, in romance languages, the word Friday comes from the Latin "dies Veneris", which means the "day of Venus". In Spanish, Friday is viernes, venerdi in Italian, and so on.

By the way, in case you're wondering, the reason the English "Friday" sounds nothing like "dies Veneris" is because English is a Germanic language, so we're up there with the Freyja-ers and the Frigg-ers.

The origin of the short weekend

The seven day week traces back all the way, as most things do, to Sumeria.

The planetary week (which is outlined very well by this site originated in Hellenistic Greece and based the name of each day on the visible planets (and one star). It went like this:

1st Day - Sunday: Sun
2nd Day - Monday: Moon
3rd Day - Tuesday: Mars
4th Day - Wednesday: Mercury
5th Day - Thursday: Jupiter
6th Day - Friday: Venus (Yay!)
7th Day - Saturday: Saturn

The Jewish and Christian justify their short weekends with God's laziness. He created the universe in six days and on the seventh day, he sat around, ate Doritos watched Simpsons reruns.

With the spread of Christianity like some sort of holy STI, the seven-day week became standard over...a lot of places. Though I should make the point that the names of the days stayed the same, based off not only planets, but also the names of Roman Gods. And also the point that these names were completely altered in the Germanic cultures, hence why we don't call it TGIV. People give too much credit to the spread of Christianity. It didn't conquer. It was just like "Okay...you can keep your culture...so long as this guy Jesus is plastered all over them."

Christianity was, and still is, plastic Jesus fish on Hummers.

Friday the 13th: How Freddy got Founded

When is Friday not joyous? When it happens to fall on the 13th.

Apparently, on this day, $800 to $900 million dollars is estimated to be lost in the US due to people not wanting to travel or do things, for fear of bad luck. Even more, apparently people have panic attacks or a sense of impending doom or being chopped up by pedophiles with finger-claws.

There's even a convoluted name for this: Paraskevidekatriaphobia. Some doctor wrote a book about it that I'm sure will get about as many readers as my blog.

Where did this come from? I'm glad you asked, because National Geographic answered you for me.

In Norse mythology (here we go again), the 13th guest at a feast in Valhalla was Loki. Loki is like the guy who adds your event on facebook and then fills a thermos with beer from your keg. And then pisses on your face. But somehow, those silly Aesir can't get enough of him.

Loki arranges for one god to shoot another god, which kind of casts a pall over the party.

Guess who was also a 13th supper guest?

That's right. Judas. Or should I say...JEWdas.

As for poor Friday, well, it just happens to be the day that Jesus died, supposedly the day that Eve tempted Adam with her tasty apples and possibly the day that Cain killed Abel and was doomed to walk the earth as a goth kid and be responsible for this.

Question answered.

And there you have it. Everything you didn't need to know about Friday and some things you...no. Just everything you didn't need to know.

So thank you, Friday. If it weren't for you...we'd all love Thursdays.

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This post is a lie.

Today's subject is the fragile flower that is lies. What is it? Why do we tell them? How do we tell them better? How do we not get caught for them? How can I commit tax fraud with a clear conscience and criminal record?

One of those questions I will not answer today. You'll have to read on to find out. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Wiktionary defines a lie as:

1. An intentionally false statement; a falsehood.
2. A statement intended to deceive, even if literally true; a half-truth

Well. Question answered.

What's that? Too broad, you say? I did not answer the questions I promised to, you claim?

How do you feel about that? Betrayed? Do you feel as though I offered you an intentionally false statement? Perhaps, that I uttered a falsehood? Maybe even made a statement intended to deceive?

Well, congratulations. Now you know what it feels like to be lied to. I just had to make sure my audience (You're out there somewhere...) was aware that things like this go on in the outside world. So rarely are we exposed to the cruel realities of life gathered, as we are, around the nuturing flame of our LCD screens.

Now brace yourself. I'm about to dive deep into the cesspool of sin that is...

THE LIE

The history of the lie is very interesting. The first lies came with the creation of Man, because animals, to the best of my knowledge, rarely lie.

The first lies came from Adam and Eve, whispering sweet nothings to one another.

A: (lie) Oh, darling, I love you, I have been waiting for you all my brief life.
(truth) It beats screwing sheep.
E: (lie) Adam, my sweet, I am the happiest I could be with you.
(truth) If God's so great, he could have endowed you a little better.

Then came the Fall, when Eve ate the apple and doomed us all to toil and suffering on a beautiful, exciting planet:
God: Eve, did you eat the apple?
Eve: (lie) No.
(truth) Yes.
God: (lie) You should have known better than to lie!
(truth) I shouldn't have given you speech.
(lie) I guess this could not have been avoided.
(truth) I should have made it the Large Boulder of Knowledge...

Then a long time passed. Then came a man named Augustine of Hippo. The man was hungry, hungry for truth. In 395 AD, as a part of his text "Retractions", he wrote a section entitled "On Lying". Here he outlined the types of lies told by man in order of severity:

1. Lies in religious teaching.
2. Lies that harm others and help no one.
3. Lies that harm others and help someone.
4. Lies told for the pleasure of lying.
5. Lies told to "please others in smooth discourse."
6. Lies that harm no one and that help someone.
7. Lies that harm no one and that save someone's life.
8. Lies that harm no one and that save someone's "purity."

He also wrote, "Setting aside, therefore, jokes, which have never been accounted lies, seeing they bear with them in the tone of voice, and in the very mood of the joker a most evident indication that he means no deceit..."

So lies told in jest are a-okay. Now I don't feel so bad about that Garden of Eden thing.

Wikipedia offers a number of different kinds of lies. I will only list a few here, supplemented by sources of knowledge that are a bit more credible than "Cuddlyable3".

Charles V. Ford's Psychology of Deceit gives us a good listing of types of lies. I'm going to focus on the ones that are the most fun.

Benign and salutary lies: These basically go along with "white lies", in that they are sort of obligated lies. For the sake of not offending someone or something, you'll lie your little fibbing pants off. Something along the lines of "Oh, I'd love to goto your party, but I have homework," or "Oh, I'd love to go out with you tonight, but I have homework," or, "Oh, I'd love to read that new blog post you put up, but I have homework."

Defensive lies: These are lies that get you or someone else out of trouble. Everyone's done these, fess up. No one judges on the internet, unless you're reading a blog. Or a forum. Or anything written by another human being.

Example:

"We've been a remarkably stable administration, and I think that's good for the country..."
- George W. Bush (Source)

Malicious lies: My favorite. Lies for personal gain. Why tell the truth and get punished, when you can lie and get rewarded? Makes sense to me.

Example:

"In the Battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed."
- George W. Bush (Source)

You may have noticed a theme to the examples, with the exception of white lies. Problem with that is I couldn't find any white lies Bush told. I think there might be a political statement in there somewhere.

BUT NO! We're not talking about politics. We're talking about lies. The two are entirely separate.

The Psychology of Lying
In developmental psychology, it is believed that the reason young children create outrageous lies is because they haven't yet achieved what is called "Machiavellian Intelligence".

Niccolò Machiavelli was a hilarious guy. He wrote a treatise entitled "The Prince" that idealized this image of the ruler of a country as a "ends justifies the means" God. Basically, a ruler could lie, cheat, steal, kill, torture, engage in endless wars against abstract concepts, so long as they were protecting the country's virtues and stability...which seems a tinge contradictory.

But Machiavellian intelligence, or social intelligence, is basically the ability to function politically in a group. This includes being able to lie, cheat and steal not out of sheer maliciousness, but with the intent of protecting one's interests. Armed with this intelligence, the fresh-faced youngster becomes a brutal lying machine, capable of churning out deceptions tailored to be believable in the view of others, not just themselves.

Now, I could go research a bunch of piddling bullshit about "what makes us lie" "who lies" and all that other new-agey psychology mumbo-jumbo. But instead, I'd like you to take a moment to bash your head against the wall repeatedly. Go ahead. I'll wait.

...Finished? Good. Pat yourself on the back. Right there, you did less damage to your brain than would have been done reading stuff like this or this.

The psychology I CAN talk about is confabulation. This what happens when we confuse our imagination with reality. It's sort of what happens when our brain's tactics for incorporating new elements into our memory without completely reconstructing our view of the world mess up. Our brains simply adore patterns, and will go to great lengths to find some.

An example of this is in an experiment by Frederic Charles Barlett in which he read a Native American myth to a group of students and asked them to recite it at various times afterwards. He found that the reproductions tended to include additional elements to make the myth more consistent. We're just naturally anti-bullshit.

Confabulators will make up elaborate stories, sometimes entire new lives for themselves, moment by moment. It's not exactly lying, as they're just honestly confused. But it is pretty damn interesting.

So why do people lie?

For tons of reasons. As a joke, as a way out, to get some reward, to protect other lies, to hurt someone else, to help someone else, to hurt themselves, to help themselves.

If you need sources for that, just take a step outside.

How do you lie better?

Don't get caught.

How do you avoid getting caught?

Write a blog no one reads :)

'Till next time!

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Speed Demons or Law Breakers?

So I was driving to work today and I ran into a truck. No, I didn't hit the truck, I just ran smack dab into a enormous wall of rusty steel filled with something that was tossing small bits of crap onto my windshield.

It's times like those that I'm happy I'm an aggressive driver. If I hadn't been, I would have spend an extra FIVE MINUTES waiting behind this big hulking load of slow.

And it made me wonder...wait, wonder isn't the right word...it made me scream and curse about how it's illegal for a truck to bumble along in the left lane. I didn't actually know whether that was true or not, but that wasn't going to stop me from asserting it as ultimate moral truth with liberal use of the f-word, the a-word and the b-word.

So. How about those left lanes? What's their deal? Are they just for passing or are they for people like me who like to roar down the road without regard to my own or others' safety.

Let's find out.

Where do we start when dealing with a simple, straightforward question like this? I know! Let's go a hundred years back in history and figure out the origins of automobiles!

In 1885, a giant named Karl Benz grabbed a sheet of steel and, with his bare hands, twisted it into the Otto gasoline engine, obviously named after this guy. The beast that was Karl Benz wasn't satisfied. He went on a wild bender in which half of Germany was reduced to ruins (which wouldn't be the last time that would happen, ha ha ha ha) and when he awoke amidst the chaos and very satisfied women, in his mighty mind arose the design of a machine. Not just any machine. A machine that would eventually result in the deaths of many thousands a year.

He called it "The Killzerstein".

It was later renamed the car.

Such a wild beast needed to be tamed. Ergo, the birth of TRAFFIC LAWS!

In 1860, before motor vehicles, Broadway was a killing block. Horse-drawn carts would dash this way and that and drivers were instructed that if they did not kill at least a brace of pedestrians each trip, they would be fired. Broadway's police put a stop to that with their elite troop of extremely tall officers. Each one was over six feet tall, so they could be seen over the piles of dead pedestrians.

In 1922, Texas, always at the forefront of innovation, developed a system of electronically connected traffic signals to replace clunky and unreliable steam-powered ones.

And so on and so forth. Take a look at that link, the description of the Los Angeles electronic traffic surveillance and its less important feedback:

8:05AM—1144 CAT IN THE ROAD
8:05AM—KIDS ARE IN THE ROAD TO LOOK AT THE CAT

I know that shouldn't be funny.

Anyway, what was the question? Oh yehhh. The left lane.

The first keep-right law was actually enacted in Pennsylvania, also the forefront of innovation, in 1792, but that was more of a "We're not England" thing.

From what I understand, by which I mean what Wikipedia tells me,the leftmost lane on a highway IS the passing lane, but no one really cares. However, it is illegal in New Jersey to travel in the left lane or make yourself an "obstruction".

You can and WILL be ticketed for it...if the officer is an asshole. And it IS New Jersey. I had this happen to me once, I didn't move over so the cop could blaze past me in a firey ball of entirely unsafe speeds (cause, what, is he gonna get pulled over?)

So be careful, Jersey drivers. Not everyone appreciates our lead feet, our aggressive speeds and our majestic middle fingers.

Sources:
Wikipedia
http://www.straightdope.com/classics/a3_021b.html
http://www.cabinetmagazine.org/issues/17/blocking.php

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A Naked Post

Tah-dah!

Brand new layout. Entirely coded by yours truly. Yep. No other. I didn't just browse through the blogger templates and pick the most tasteful one. Nope. Never happened. I'm an html whiz.

Anyway, let's test the old adage "All that glitters is not gold" by seeing if this new, shiny, glittery blog will now have posts of solid gold (not bloody likely).

Speaking of Au, today's extremely solvable mystery comes from the very elemental core of our human being-ness. What is it about our wild psyche, assaulted, as it is, by a constant barrage of odd quirks of society, internet fads and ugly, ugly people, what is it that makes us find the concept of a naked man in a cowboy hat playing a guitar so goddamn appealing?

I'm talking, of course, about the one-and-only Naked Cowboy of New York City.

For those of you who have never heard of him, which would require that you have never been to New York City, and therefore are probably reading this on Windows 2.1 on Mosaic Netscape with a tractor motor powering your CPU, and therefore you're probably still stuck on the word "psyche", thus making it pointless to give you background. However, let it not be said that I discriminate...especially since I have no readers...

The Naked Cowboy is an icon in Times Square and has appeared in New Orleans during Mardi Gras as well. But he is mainly a fixture of Times Square. What he does is go out in a hat and underwear playing a guitar and taking pictures with frisky old women. It's a neat gimmick and has brought him pseudo-fame.

Pseudo-fame being defined by the following conversation:
A: I went to Times Square the other day.
B: Oh? Did you see the Naked Cowboy?
A: No.
B: Oh. Did you spend your week's pay on dinner?
A: Of course. It's Times Square.

Now, I don't know about you, but I feel his outfit doesn't make sense. I mean, wrangling cattle in your undies just doesn't seem practical. What cowboys nowadays are cowboy jeans or other stiff pants with a smooth inside seam to prevent blisters. Over that they wear chaps, which are kind of like leather armor, they just cover the legs to protect from brush that might scratch a lonely cowboy up. Just wearing underwear? There's no way I'd hire him for my ranch.

The singing cowboy is another of those Hollywood-brand skewings of real life. John Wayne was at the forefront of this, with the 1933 film Riders of Destiny. But, and this is kinda funny, he had a crappy voice, so all his singing had to be dubbed over.

However, if Hollywood is good at one thing, it's finding the cheapest way to achieve the desired result. This took the form of finding a guy who could not only be a big, rough-and-tumble cowboy, but also sing like a sweet little angel.

Enter (through swinging tavern doors, of course) Gene Autry. Gene Autry is usually the one referred to with the name "the singing cowboy". Of course, as popular as he was, when he walked out of his contract in 1937 temporarily, he returned to find that his chaps were being filled by another man. This man was Leonard Slye. You might know him better as Roy Rogers, the KING of Cowboys.

They glared at eachother across the wasteland of key grips and makeup artists, while tumbleweeds of mediocrity rolled quietly across the studio plains.

Roy Rogers obviously won. Cause his burgers are just so damn delicious.

So the Naked Cowboy, seeing this tradition, stripped it of its dignity (AND CLOTHES) and now sings for nickels, whoring his tan, smooth body with its rippling muscles and....

I'm sorry, I forgot what I was saying.

So the Naked Cowboy pays tribute to this tradition and would never claim that he was the progenitor of it...

Oh.

Wait.

(Side note: The title of that article is "Candy Man Can't". I'm torn between fits of laughter and fits of anger that the person who came up with THAT title is a professional journalist and I'm just a lowly shmoe writing a blog for chimps...I mean...an intelligent, discerning audience)

Apparently, Mars Inc. decided to take the Naked Cowboy's impractical approach to cattle ranching one step further. It made a candy coated piece of chocolate responsible for the welfare of hundreds of cattle. It's just irresponsible.

A blue M&M appears on a screen in Times Square along with a series of other M&Ms with other city icons. The Naked Cowboy was at first appreciative of this tip-of-the-hat, but soon realized that he could be making lots of money by suing...I mean, soon realized that his brilliant (and original) idea of running around singing like a drunken cowboy in his underwear was being made to look silly.

The Cowboy is indignant, "I'm huge now, but I represent the little guy!" He exclaimed, right before demanding 6 million dollars from the candy giant.

We need more naked cowboys representing the little people of the world.

So, in conclusion...

I forgot what point I was trying to make.

Oh well.

Till next time!

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An ENTERTAINING war or The War of the World...wide entertainment industry

Well, hello.

It's good to see you again.

I guess that inaccurate.

It's good to have you seeing me again.

Better?

Speaking of eyesight, let's talk about the limits of it. Your eyes are neat little machines. They're fun, they're exciting, and they're full of a thick, syrupy goo. They also have a maximum resolution (looking at a TV screen) of 324 megapixels.

Exciting.

The most the top HD formats can manage is a resolution of about 2 megapixels. And regular, humble DVD? About .3 of a megapixel.

What's my point? None, really. I was attempting to prove that HD and regular DVD really don't make much of a difference, but I'm wrong. It does. But fact is, it's still TV. If seeing the hairs on the buttcrack of the pornstar you WON'T be seeing on Blu-Ray really makes that much of a difference to you, then shell out the 400 dollars out of your fancy Gucci crocodile skin wallet.

I'm happy with my DVDs.

But. This blog is only SORT OF my personal soap box.

So. Today's thing of interest is the final defeat in the epic format war of the robust HD DVD versus the slick 'n shiny Blu-Ray. Ooooh. Ahhh.

What's the history here?

For those of you who haven't heard, the entertainment market wasn't always the peaceful, joyous world of expensive gadgets and TV refrigerators. (Which I realize is also an expensive gadget, but is so incredibly ridiculous it deserves a specific mention). No, there was once a plucky young format known as Betamax.

Betamax wasn't proud. It only wanted to dominate the entertainment format countryside, waving it's cute little pocket-sized arms. Unfortunately, like Joan Benet Ramsey, Betamax soon found there were disadvantages to being cute. Betamax had a maximum record time of one hour.

"Outrageous!" Cried RCA heads. They swore that they could produce a format that was longer than the cute little Betamax.

Sony brashly ignored the firey young RCA execs and went on touting the superiority of their cute little competitor. RCA, abashed but not defeated, went into negotiations with Matsushita Corporation and eventually produced a 4-hour recorder.

Sony scrambled to beat the VHS format, but found their baby Betamax ending up too expensive and with too low a recording time to beat the mighty VHS.

But Sony, like the great Phoenix (we can argue forever about how that's spelled, shut up) rose from the ashes of the fallen Betamax and....about thirty years later popped out the sleek, shiny Blu-Ray.

The secret to the Blu-Ray is that it uses a shorter wavelength laser to write to the discs, thus allowing more data to be stored on it, thus blah blah blah blah...

Sony chuckled at its own ingenuity. It would not repeat the mistake of the Betamax. Blu-Ray would rule the entertainment countryside!

But the dark lords of the DVD Forum were not satisfied. They remained split, due to the fragility of the Blu-Ray discs, which had to be packaged with a special protective cover that was both expensive and hard to deal with. They began toying with the dark art of dual-layer DVD9 discs to encode HD media.

Still worse, the forum itself was headed by none other than the Toshiba Kings. Together with their lackeys from NEC, they began toiling over a format that would come to be called Advanced Optical Disc. They soon realized that was a way lame name for a shiny gadget, so they called it HD DVD. Which wasn't much better, but these are people from a council called the "DVD Forum", do you really think they're the best minds in the world?

This new unveiling caused a deep split in the Jedi Council...I mean, DVD Forum. And in the end resulted in a media war that would scar the fertile, silicone fields of the entertainment industry.

And after a long and hard-fought battle, we finally have a victor.

On February 19th, Toshiba lay battered upon the corporate battlefield. Studios, video companies, all its allies had abandoned it. The Blu-Ray stood triumphant over its thwarted foe.

"But why? I only wanted to introduce the usage of new, slicker encoding mechanisms into the HD media format?!" Toshiba lamented its loss. Its dearest friends, Wal-Mart and Netflix, had discarded the rugged young HD DVD. Toshiba reluctantly announced that it would no longer be producing HD DVD players and recorders.

Peace is restored.

BUT AT WHAT COST!?

I guess the better question is...

Who the hell cares?!

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